


Feeling Loved

by EdgarAllenPoet



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Couch Cuddles, Domestic Boyfriends, Dysfunctional Family, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Massage, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:56:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26068339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdgarAllenPoet/pseuds/EdgarAllenPoet
Summary: Tamaki rather enjoys the social events hosted by the Ootori group.  What he doesn't enjoy is what these events do to Kyoya.
Relationships: Ootori Kyouya/Suoh Tamaki
Comments: 4
Kudos: 179





	Feeling Loved

**Author's Note:**

> someone on tumblr asked for tamakyo “I don’t like people, but you’re an exception.”
> 
> if you want to request something, hit me up at punks-n-rec.tumblr.com

Every event hosted by the Ootori Group was beautiful. Light, tasteful foods and light, tasteful alcohols. Light, tasteful background music, and light, tasteful conversations. Tamaki wouldn’t say as much out loud, but he enjoyed the parties themself. Perhaps they could do with a bit of dancing, but overall he had no complaints.

Or, he had a few complaints, but none of them were about the parties in particular. 

They were about what the parties did to Kyoya. 

Tamaki had learned back when they were still boys that there were several versions of the youngest Ootori. There was the Kyoya whom Tamaki first met, which was the Tamaki strangers and acquaintances got to interact with. He was painfully polite, terribly reserved, all small grins and even tones and the occasional air of condescension, just to remind everyone who was in charge. Then there was Kyoya in the Host Club, who when the ladies weren’t around was snarky and not quite as patient as the other Kyoya, who was patronizing on purpose this time and, if caught unaware, a little bit dorky (but that wasn’t often). University Kyoya had been an entire other creature entirely, workaholic and subtly rebellious, no longer under direct control of his father, and thus no longer perfectly polite and kind and held together. 

Then of course, there was Tamaki’s Kyoya, who wore soft grins and softer sweaters, who let Tamaki lay in his lap and who complained directly to the characters about their choices when they watched trashy TV together, who had loud laughs and tight hugs and frequently misplaced glasses. 

Tamaki, of course, loved all of them. 

The Kyoya who went to his father’s events was a tenser version of the very first Kyoya. He was an expert at small talk and polite conversation, he knew every rule of etiquette and followed it all flawlessly. He was never wrinkled, his hair was never out of place, and he didn’t stop grinning just slightly the entire time. To the outside eye, this Kyoya looked perfectly content, but Kyoya was _Tamaki’s_ Kyoya, so of course Tamaki knew better.

Tamaki knew that Kyoya approached these high-society events the way others approached a championship golf tournament that they’d somehow found themselves involved in against their will, but knew that they had to win. He engaged in small talk like an interrogation specialist, searching for information and fishing out weaknesses. Always one foot up, always in control. And he endured conversations with his father the way one might endure spending the evening in a den of lions, or clipping wires on a bomb while holding a conversation in a language they weren’t entirely fluent in, or playing chess with a gun held to your stomach under the table. 

Tense. Stressed. Exerting extraordinary amounts of energy all while carefully pretending not to be. 

When they returned back to their humble (read: lavish) apartment late into the evening after one of these so-called social events, Polite Ootori Heir Kyoya remained all until their front door closed behind them, and Tamaki clicked the lock. Then, Tamaki was greeted with a different Kyoya entirely. 

A Kyoya who deflated heavily, kicked his shoes off against the wall, and collapsed face first onto their sofa without another word. 

Tamaki decided to give him a moment. He padded quietly to their bedroom and into the attached bathroom, where he undid his tie and cufflinks and belt, untucked his shift and rolled his neck. 

Watching Kyoya hold himself together left Tamaki nearly as exhausted as Kyoya was, after these things. After every “family” dinner at the Ootori main estate, sometimes after a mere phone call with the patriarch himself. Tamaki had a personal rule against ever hating anybody– because, afterall, everyone was just doing their best in the world, even if their best wasn’t very impressive. He wanted to give people the benefit of the doubt. Wanted to see them do better, be better. He knew that people could flourish in the right circumstances, and he knew that at the end of the day, most people would choose to do the right thing.

Personal rules aside, Tamaki hated Yoshio Ootori.

He splashed cold water over his face and rubbed his eyes, changed from his suit into a cozy pair of pajama bottoms and a t-shirt that was either his or Kyoya’s– he couldn’t be sure, half of their laundry was shared at this point. He put his clothes away nicely, just to waste a little more time, and then ventured back out to the living room to find his partner. 

He seemed to be exactly where Tamaki had left him, smothering himself in the couch cushions and perhaps even comatose, but he had to have moved at some point. HIs jacket and tie were tossed aside, and his shirt was mostly untucked. That seemed to be as far as he’d gotten into getting undressed. 

Tamaki chuckled lightly and tip-toed a bit closer, climbing over the back of the couch and settling on top of Kyoya, straddling his lower back. 

“Mon cheri~” he sang softly. He combed his fingers through the dark hair on the base of his skull, scritched lightly and felt Kyoya sigh underneath him. “Mon amour, mon ami, you can’t hide forever~” 

Kyoya responded by squirming a bit, getting his arms out from under them and crossing them under his head, using them as a pillow. Tamaki hummed. He rubbed at Kyoya’s shoulders, gently at first and then more firmly, when he felt how tight the muscles there were. He pressed at one with a rolling thumb, felt a nice little pop, and then felt Kyoya shudder underneath him. 

“You did very good tonight~” Tamaki cooed, rubbing along the base of his lover’s spine. Kyoya let out a single, unconvinced huff of laughter. 

“ _Well_ ,” he corrected, and then, “I’m not a child.”

“But you did very, _very_ well. So polite, and so clever,” he sang, and Kyoya was laughing at him now. It sounded like music. “Very impressive, Kyo-kun~” 

Kyoya grumbled, but whether it was at the praise, the nickname, or the day’s events, Tamaki couldn’t be sure. He said, “I hate it,” voice muffled into the couch, tone petulant in a way that hardly ever came out of him. 

“I know,” Tamaki soothed, massaging the center of his back between his shoulder blades and eliciting a quiet moan.

“I hate everything and everyone,” Kyoya continued. 

“You don’t hate everything.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the nape of his neck, right above his shirt collar. Kyoya deflated a bit further. Tamaki straightened up and moved his caresses back up to his shoulders, the backs of his arms. 

“Fine,” Kyoya agreed. “But I hate people.”

“Not _all_ people.” 

“Yep,” the petulant tone was back, but this time it was more teasing than sulking. “Every single one of them.” 

Tamaki played into it, letting out an affronted little noise and slumping down, resting his forehead against Kyoya’s back. Kyoya laughed softly, barely there. Tamaki wormed his arms underneath Kyoya and wrapped them firmly around his chest, squeezing a bit. Kyoya tried to squirm again, and coughed when Tamaki squeezed the air out of his lungs. 

“Okay,” he acquiesced. “I don’t like other people, but you’re the exception.” Tamaki beamed, squeezed even tighter. He nipped lightly at the muscle just under Kyoya’s left shoulder, through the thin material of his shirt which was already wrinkled beyond repair, and a little bit sweaty. It would have to be sent out for cleaning anyways. 

“I’m going to carry you to bed now,” Tamaki decided, and Kyoya immediately perked back up. 

He said, “What, Suoh, _no–”_ and they wrestled and laughed as Tamaki attempted to pry his boyfriend off of the couch and hoist him up into his arms. He was, in the end, successful, but only because Kyoya gave up the fight to keep them both from crashing into the coffee table, or maybe just the floor. Kyoya from a few years ago wouldn’t have been so relenting, then again, there were all different types of Kyoya’s. 

Tamaki loved _all_ of them. 

“I swear,” Kyoya complained as he was carried bridal style– with _minimal effort,_ thank you– through the apartment and into their bedroom. “Are you twenty-three or thirteen, you act like a child.” 

Tamaki beamed down at him, as bright as possible, because that was how he felt. And Kyoya sighed and rolled his eyes before smiling back. 


End file.
